


The Unmasking of a Faceless Man

by MythicRhyvon



Series: A Tale of Two Faceless Men [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A History of Braavos, Arya and Jon reunion, BAMF Arya, BAMF Jaqen, Dangerous Arya, Drama, F/M, Faceless Men Lore, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Reunions, Graphic Sex, Nymeria Appearance, The Faceless Men, This could be cannon, Waterdancing, back story, sword play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-06 18:49:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12823815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MythicRhyvon/pseuds/MythicRhyvon
Summary: The Stark Family reunites after years torn asunder, and the siblings come to realize that they are all very different adults than the children they were when the separated. Featuring the long awaited Jon & Arya reunion, a forming friendship between an assassin and a sellsword, War Councils and more!The Arya &  Jon Reunion sequel to my series, 'A Tale of Two Faceless Men.' Now with more Faceless Men Lore!! *This Could Be Cannon* **Fingers Crossed for a Jaqen reappearance in season 8**





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to my wonderful readers. I have some bad news: My computer decided to crash a couple of weeks ago. Not sure what's wrong with it, but I got it to start once, and it ran normally. And then it crashed again, and I couldn't get it to boot up for a week. I got it to start again this morning, and so I'm going to spend today polishing up everything that I have partially written and post it in parts rather than waiting. I will update as I am able, but I'm not sure what's going to happen with my laptop.

Sansa was waiting impatiently for her when she finally left her room, looking just as put together as she always did, despite the late hour. The only indication that she’d been roused from her own slumber was that her glowing red hair hung loose and unadorned around her delicate face.

Arya’s own hair had been loosened the rest of the way from its braid and hung in somewhat messy dark waves around her features, softening her normally severe edge and highlighting her femininity. The lingering flush from her recent activities helped add to that softness, though that was as far as it went. The rest of her was wrapped in her normal fitted breeches and a plain grey tunic. Her sword hung in its normal spot upon her hip, and her newest dagger had been added opposite it and had quickly become a familiar weight. Both were hidden from sight by the warm black cloak she’d thrown on at the last second, honestly still reacclimating to the biting cold of her homeland. She may have the North in her blood, but it’d been so long since she’d been home-  first in the balmy South and then soaking up the Eastern sun- that the snow felt almost foreign upon the fading color of her flesh.

She didn’t see him when they arrived at their destination, not at first, or perhaps she wasn’t ready to let herself look upon him, but her eyes were instead drawn to the edges of the room, where the danger was most likely to be present. The room wasn’t as packed as one might expected the homecoming of the King in the North to be, thanks in part to the late hour, and Jon’s desire to return quietly, but it was still fairly full regardless.  

When her eyes did finally rest upon him, she felt almost detached from the scene before her, realizing then that she herself had faded into the back wall and was acting as an observer rather than a participant in the family reunion. Sansa had immediately strode confidently forward, and Arya was a little surprised to see her hug the brother she’d so disdained as a child. They both looked happy to be reunited, and Arya silently reminded herself that she wasn’t the only one to change, that she shouldn’t hold onto expectations long past and rather be ready for anything that might occur.

Bran was wheeled in then. His eyes moved sideways to glance at her form swallowed in the shadows, but he didn’t call her out. Grey eyes followed the scene as Jon swallowed thickly enough to be visible to her keen eyes and bowed over to embrace his young brother, uncaring to maintain his Kingly Grace. She didn’t think Bran was going to respond, not at first, but just when she thought Jon was going to pull back a slender, pale, hand reached out to softly cup the back of the chaotic mass of dark curls, so like her own.

‘It’s so good to see you,’ she read on Jon’s lips, though she couldn’t hear the quiet words from her spot. Only when Jon rose back to his full height did he frown, eyes scanning the room hopefully. She didn’t think he’d spot her, wasn’t sure if she even wanted him to. Seeing him again, not just as her favorite bastard brother, but as the King in the North, the man who’d taken a stand and forsaken his own vows to avenge their family and their honor- everything suddenly felt so real, so final. A small part of her (one she hadn’t realized still existed) felt shamed that she’d stayed away for so long when she could have been helping. She hadn’t though, she’d stayed in Braavos for years, she’d shed her name, and her face, and her lineage in her service to the House of Black and White.

Here and now, standing in the cold stone room, she knew everything was about to change. She knew, beyond a shadow of doubt, that as soon as she stepped forward into the light, she’d truly be Arya Stark once more. She’d no longer one of the nameless, faceless brethren that worshiped He of Many Faces, but a daughter of the Stark Family, sister to the King, **_Princess_** of the Northernmost Territories.   

Suddenly a part of her wanted to back out of the room, flee Winterfell altogether. Perhaps join Jaqen on whatever mission brought him back to Westeros? Anything felt easier than stepping forward, than breaking free of the shadows once and for all. It was silly and childish, she knew, for she’d already been back for weeks. The people had seen her, they knew both Stark Daughters had returned home, and so in truth she’d already left the safety of the darkness, but this felt different. It felt more final, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready to face life with a name, and titles, and expectations as a Stark Lady once again.

The choice was taken from her hands then, as grey eyes locked on grey. It was almost as if his were drawn to her own, because he locked onto her with an accuracy that shouldn’t have been possible. Her name was on his lips, familiar and yet silent. Suddenly she wanted to hear it in truth, rather than reading it. She took a step forward despite herself, and then another. Jon began moving towards her, faster than she herself was moving. Before she truly comprehended what was happening, his strong arms wrapped around her slender frame and squeezed her for all he was worth.

Her own arms came to wrap around his neck on reflex, though she was still staring somewhat blankly at the floor over his shoulder as he lifted her feet clear off the ground in his exuberance. He spun her once, twice, thrice, before he feet touched the floor once again. Her hands came to rest on his broad shoulders as his strong hands came to cup her face. “Arya,” He whispered, voice thick, raspy and almost broken sounding as he stuttered over her name. “Gods, Arya,” He said again, pressing his wind chapped lips against the side of her head as he embraced her again.  

He seemed both smaller and larger than he had when they’d said their goodbyes so many years before. He had lines settling into his flesh, aging him beyond his years, and held himself with the bearing of someone under tremendous pressure. Even so, he was her brother, and his warm familiarity was starting to break through the haze she was still feeling. He still smelled the same, like snow and iron and leather. She breathed in deeper, the scent memory helping to break through the haze. He finally pulled back, dropping his hands to wrap one strong arm around her back to rest on her shoulder. She tensed initially, always weary of what she couldn’t see, but forced down the inherent jumpiness that resulted from such a gesture.

Feeling somewhat more aware of herself, Arya glanced around the rest of the room. Her eyes immediately fell to the woman with long white blond hair and purple eyes, watching the scene carefully, though keeping most of the emotion from her fair face. It would be Daenerys Targaryen, she knew, having heard much of the Khaleesi turned Queen of horse lords and freed slaves alike. She was smaller than Arya might have expected, but knew better than most not to underestimate someone based solely on their size. This woman had proven herself fearsome queen, and Arya wouldn’t make the foolish mistake of underestimating her.

Jon had pulled back completely, moving to introduce the newcomers with a familiarity that had Arya’s eyes narrowing in curiosity. Mayhap reuniting the North and South wouldn’t be as impossible a feat as she had imagined, she mused, as she watched Sansa step up as the flawless lady she was and offer accommodations and gratitude for their arrival. She of course made no mention of the tightness of their stores or the burden the new additions would place on them.

~*~*~*~

The reunion broke up not long after, the newcomers exhausted from the journey and craving a good night’s rest more than anything else. Arya made her way quickly back to her room, almost forgetting the visitor waiting behind her door. She didn’t forget him completely, couldn’t forget him, even if she’d have wanted to. She was almost unnaturally aware of him, and knew where he was immediately upon entering her room.

His eyes pierced her from his place seated in the shadows, and he could sense her lingering unease in the tenseness of her frame. She tried to hide it, tried to control herself to his standard, but knew he could see through her regardless. He didn’t call her out for being overly emotional, as he might have done under different circumstances. He didn’t react at all, not at first, instead cataloging her motions as she strode carefully across the room to peer out into the brightness of moonlight upon fresh snowfall. The sky had cleared, and the stars shone above despite the illumination of the night.

She watched his reflection approach silently behind her, coming to rest by her shoulder. “A Man has something for a Girl.” He stated quietly once he reached her, and she turned to look at him fully. He lifted the sheathed sword from where it had been resting loosely in his hold. She scolded herself for not noticing it before, knowing that she was being too careless. Had he desired, he could have opened her throat while she stood there and allowed it. Not that she necessarily though he would, but vigilance wasn’t something she could afford to lose.

The sword was a near match to Needle, being a similar size and shape as her beloved childhood weapon. The steel was different, a smokier grey with an almost sinister looking edge cut into the dark metal. She tore her eyes away from the sight and met those of her mentor. “It’s beautiful.” She murmured softly, reaching out to stroke the unique rippling, different than Valerian Steel, but just as captivating.

He handed it to her, and she accepted it carefully. The balance was flawless, and it immediately felt almost as familiar to her as Needle did. “It is made of Héjīn, a metal found only in the mines of Yi Ti. A man had it commissioned for the next part of A Girls training.”  

Her eyes jumped back to his from where they were wandering across the darker ripples, knowing what he meant immediately. It was something she’d been looking forward to, after all. One of the greatest benefits to wielding a weapon as slight as Needle was that it left her other hand free for any number of things- balance, a shield, another sword… She’d seen Jaqen wield two blades during his own training, and she’d yearned for the time that she’d advanced enough for him to teach her. It took a special kind of grace to wield two blades- each having to act in sync and separately at once.

She’d begun preparing for such a thing already, in that she was as proficient with her right has as she was with her left when wielding Needle. She’d left Braavos before they could begin the next phase, but the disappointment of it was just one more in a long line them, and so she’d done what she did best- press forward and not look back.  

Now though… She still wasn’t entirely sure why he was there, but he hadn’t tried to kill her, far from it, rather. And he’d said he wasn’t after anyone in Winterfell. Granted, he could have been lying, but she didn’t think he was. She still trusted him despite everything, trusted him more than she trusted herself, some days. “The snow in the inner courtyard is deep enough to muffle most noise. What it doesn’t, the walls of the keep will block.” She offered, knowing it was true. The mounds of snowfall that had been pressed to the walls of the space would catch most sound. With the lateness of the hour, they’d be undisturbed for hours, and the moonlight was more than enough for the two of them to see by.

He didn’t respond verbally, but rather nodded his head, small smirk twisting the corner of his mouth. Arya reached up to unclasp her cloak, knowing the bulky material would be more hindrance than anything in the activities to come, and knowing that she’d be moving plenty enough to keep herself warmed. Those dark eyes watched her closely all the while, and the man followed easily behind her when she moved to depart the room.

They reached the resounding silence of the snowscape a scant few minutes later, and Arya took a moment to simply breath in the biting coldness, feeling the pain of it help break her from the remaining fog the events of the night had put her in. She could feel herself settling as the chill set immediately into her limbs, and she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply once more. 

More settled than she had been all night, she easily heard the familiar whistle of a staff sailing through the air toward her. They were clearly going to warm up before moving on to two handed sword play- a good choice, considering the months since they’d last played together similarly. She caught the hard yet flexible wood easily, and spun it in her hands to get a better judge of its weight and dimensions as she turned to face him fully.

She realized then that her hair was still loose- an inconvenience, but no matter.  They kicked off with a simple ‘tap’ ‘tap’ of wood, but quickly gained in speed and determination. After a few rounds passed by, Jaqen added in a second set of staffs. This dance was familiar, and she was able to keep his pace for several long minutes before she found herself on her back. This happened several more times before he silently brought them to a halt, looking pleased with her maintained skill. It wasn’t an easy feat to spar aboard a ship or while traveling alone through the woods, after all. “Good.” He murmured quietly, walking around behind her.

She stood at ease, relaxed and comfortable in a way she hadn’t realized she’d been missing. She was sore, both from the points her opponents own staffs had connected with her, and from the exertion of matching such a competitor, but that only helped center her more. Truly, Breanne had nothing on this man. Despite the physical pain, she felt alive once more, exhilarated and breathless all in one. Her arms rested loosely beside her,  wood dangling from her relaxed grip as she awaited his next instruction.

The thick piece of cloth dropping over her vision didn’t surprise her, for it became a familiar thing once she’d been given back her sight. She may have passed that test, but being able to fight blind was a skill she needed to keep honed. You never knew where circumstance might bring you, after all, and Arya had long ago vowed that she’d never be that helpless again.

She didn’t feel him step away, but felt cooler along her back all the same. She steadied her breathing, forcing her heart rate to calm and straining her ears for any sound that might manage to evade the muffling piles of the snow around them. A whistle to the left had her reacting, and the crunch of snow under her own foot deafened her to the whistle coming up behind her. Jaqen’s second staff connected with the flesh on the back of her thigh with a thwack that would definitely leave a bruise.

And so a pattern formed. No matter how lightly she tried to step, the sound of snow crunching under her light boots was all that she could hear. The seventh time she landed on her back, she felt a flare of annoyance at herself. She was missing something, doing something wrong. Every environment had its strengths and weaknesses. The weakness was obvious, but what was its strength?

She crouched lower, straining once more as she tried to determine where her master prowled. She wanted to turn, wanted to give herself the best chance of picking up on a stray sound, but she resisted the urge. Her patience paid off, and she heard the air stir directly behind her. She spun on the ball of one foot, at the same time using her hand to create a spray of snow the way she did as a girl while she and her brothers played all those years ago. Sansa rarely took part in such antics, but Arya and the boys always had fun in their childish snow battles.

It might have been a gesture left over from a long forgotten childhood, but it did its job all the same. As the wall of loose snow formed, Jaqen’s foot faltered the slightest bit, scuffing across the crystals of ice stacked upon the ground and giving away his location. She reached out with both of her own staffs, hitting ankle and knee simultaneously, though from different angles, buckling his leg. She knew if she backed off and let him regain his silence then she’d lose the advantage she’d gained, and so she pressed blindly on.

He still pinned her, eventually, but she got in enough strikes of her own that it left her feeling satisfied overall. “Good.” He said again, and she felt the smile pull at her mouth. His icy hands reached up to remove the blindfold, and she was surprised to see that the horizon had begun to lighten while her sight had been bound. She blinked to help her eyes adjust more quickly and then pressed herself up from where she still sat in the snow. The coolness of it felt good against her exertion warmed flesh, and the dampness it left behind was simply another annoyance to ignore- in addition to the ice crystals that now hung to the ends of her damp hair and hit against her rosy face as they danced. His own face had reddened slightly under his tan, and the physical reminder that he wasn’t any more immune to the environment than she was gave her an extra surge of strength.

Their staffs were tossed back amongst the pile of them and then they drew their swords. After the dual hold she’d already been using, having a blade in either hand didn’t feel as odd as it otherwise might have. Still, she moved through a couple of lazy arcs and swings to get used to the change of weapon.

Jaqen only allowed it for a couple of moments before he moved to stand before her. His own swords were larger than hers, as he himself was larger than her, and as lethal looking as the hands that held them. They came together slowly, her mentor allowing her a longer adjustment period than he’d given her before. It wasn’t too surprising, though, considering this particular dance had a lot more room for error. They may have warmed up with the staffs, but Jaqen wasn’t one to bother with blunt steel. If you couldn’t control your blade enough to strike with the blunt edge, then you weren’t worth his time to train.

The sound of steel on steel had her blood singing, and she knew her face was betraying her euphoria but she couldn’t bring herself to care. This, **this** was what she’d been missing- adrenaline pumping through her veins, feeling almost high on the challenge and thrill of it, having to spend every ounce of her focus on matching his own easy skill. Every time the flat of his blade stung across her flesh she forced herself to move faster, to be that much better. Exertion tried to tug at her limbs but she ignored it, pressing on and on, ever unwilling to give up. Her eyes met his and she could see a miniscule smirk tugging at his own lips. He was enjoying this as much as she, and she felt her blood surge hotter still.

She blamed the combination of that shared euphoria and the muffling power of the snow for the fact that neither she nor her mentor heard the group appear above them on the open walkway. She did hear the stunned sounding “Arya?!” Float down in Jon’s rough voice. Jaqen immediately faded back into the shadows that he’d already been partially fighting from, and Arya spun in the direction of her name, wrists automatically coming to cross behind her back and putting both blades out of immediate sight.

Her slightly widened eyes met what must have been the group on their way to an early strategy session. She looked a sight, though she didn’t know it. Her face was pale and flushed both, her nose nearly as red as an apple for the length of time they’d been outside in mere breeches and a tunic. Her eyes were gleaming brightly and the adrenaline still surging through her made her look alive in a way she hadn’t since she’d been back- that they hadn’t seen her since she’d been a child. “Arya, you’re bleeding!” Sansa said suddenly, voice almost shrill in the echoing silence.

She was bleeding, she could feel it running down her arm. It’d been her own fault- Jaqen had struck her shoulder with the flat of his blade- a move that would have severed the limb had they been fighting in truth, and she’d raised her arm at the same moment, leaving a shallow line scored across her curve where shoulder met arm. The identical gash in the fabric of her tunic did nothing to hide the wound, and she curled her toes in her boots as she tried to determine the best move from here.

“Who was that, Arya?” Jon demanded sternly, and Arya saw the slender Queen beside him set a dainty hand on his arm and him calm almost immediately. “Who was that?” He asked again, voice more reasonable.

She tried to shrug innocently, but she couldn’t quite pull it off, mussed as she was. “No one?” She offered, but the frown she received in return let her know that answer alone wasn’t going to cut it…

_~*~ TBC ~*~_


	2. Chapter 2

Jon disappeared for a moment and then appeared below, striding across the courtyard towards her. The others remained above, ever watchful. She imagined they were rather enjoying the show, as she took in her brothers determined stride and expression that was caught somewhere between concerned, angry and confused.

Knowing there was no easy way to wiggle out of the oncoming conversation, she decided to embrace it and moved to sheath both weapons, reaching up once her hands were free to swipe her forearm across her sweaty forehead. The wound tugged slightly with the motion, but she ignored the renewed trickle of blood as she met the King with her chin raised and features calm. “Good morrow, brother.” She offered pleasantly as he came to a stop before her.

“Arya-“ He seemed almost at a loss of words, like he wasn’t sure how to handle this version of her. They’d only spoken for a few minutes the night before, and in front of a sizeable audience, so it wasn’t as if they’d really had a chance to catch up or come to know each other once more. “How did you learn to fight like that? Who was that man?” He finally settled on.

She raised a brow slightly at him, for he’d been the one to give her Needle all those years ago. Had he not expected her to learn how to wield it? “I began learning to fight back in Kings Landing, under the tutelage of one of the greatest Dancing Master the world had ever seen, the First Sword of Braavos, Syrio Forel.”

“Is that who you were fighting with?” He questioned, brows furrowed.

“No.” She replied, voice a little cooler. “Syrio died the day they took father prisoner. He’s the reason I was able to evade capture myself.” 

His frown deepened. “I am sorry to hear that. You sound like you were fond of him. I’d still like to know who you were just with. That man injured you, he could have killed you- it looked like he was trying to!”

“He wasn’t.” She stated blandly. “And he’s not anyone you’d like to know. Trust me. Now, am I welcome at this ridiculously early morning council meeting, or shall I excuse myself?” It _was_ ridiculously early, the sun not yet even peaking over the horizon, the air still grey and silent. Another reason she hadn’t been expecting an interruption.

Her brother was stubborn however, and he refused to be cowed so easily on the subject, and continued to press. “Arya-“

“Jon.” She cut him off sternly, frowning at him in turn. “I mean you no offense, brother, truly, but this is none of your business. I’m no longer a little girl, and I am not required to answer to you as to how I spend my nights.” She stated boldly, almost daring him to argue. “Or whom I spend them with.”

His mouth dropped the slightest bit open as he nearly gaped at her in shock. Ah, the prudity of the Westerosi. “Arya! That’s not, - are you-? Gods-“ He cut himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. She heard more than one of the eavesdroppers above gasp at her near scandalous  audacity, the loudest of which she recognized as Sansas. He sighed quietly, steeling himself, and then looked back down at her. “You’re only ten and six-“

Her face betrayed her brief flash of incredulity and she couldn’t help but let out a brief laugh. “You seem to have forgotten, brother, that I’ve been on my own since I was ten and one. Please, do not patronize me. I haven’t been a child in some time, and I have _long_ outgrown needing a Septa nagging after me.”

His face contorted slightly, and for a moment she thought he might try and dig in his heals further. She shot him her coolest look, refusing to give into the urge to cross her arms, refusing to look defensive in any way. Luckily, he seemed to finally remember that they had an audience because he allowed his shoulders to drop the slightest bit before forcing them to straight once again, forever under the weight of his title and the eyes resting upon him. “This is hardly the time or place for this.” He acknowledged tightly. “Please, join us in the war room. We can finish our conversation later.”

“There is no conversation to finish.” She pressed quietly, not wanting to go through the same song and dance at a later time, when there was absolutely no way she’d give away Jaqen’s identity. It was foolish of them to be so careless. Herself, well, she’d made mistakes before, but she was a bit surprised that Jaqen had been caught unawares. It was unlike him, and she wasn’t quite sure what to think about it. Did he want to be seen? Why would that be? Why was he here? The questions flared anew, and she had to stop herself from frowning.

She raised a brow at him once more and then, trying to seem less standoffish- for that truly wasn’t the relationship she wanted to reform with the long lost brother, she offered him her arm- that is, the arm free of the tacky, half dried streaks of blood. He only hesitated for a moment, frowning slightly at her once more, before he accepted her light hold and escorted her back up the steps to rejoin the group above. She should get bonus points for the lady-like gesture, she thought to herself. Still, it seemed to help smooth the lines on her brothers brow, so she didn’t mind it too much.

She ignored the range of looks she was getting once they reached the waiting small council and she let go of him so that he could join the waiting Queen as protocol dictated. Not really wanted to walk near Sansa at that moment either, for the almost certain continuation of the very conversation she wanted to avoid, she instead fell to the back of the group, ending up next to none other than Jaime Lannister and a middle aged man who looked the type to enjoy drinking, fighting and fucking, with a casually dangerous edge that made her think he might be a sellsword or cutthroat.

“Quite the set of balls, you’ve got.” The man stated crudely. The golden haired Lannister let out a muffled, long suffering, sigh through his nose and shot the man a look as a few other in close proximity stiffened ahead of them.

Her lips curled at his blunt, uncaring demeanor. She had a feeling she could come to enjoy this mans company, if they ended up spending more time around each other. She eyed him discreetly. “And you are?” She asked.

“Sir Bronn of the Blackwater!” He announced half-jokingly.

She eyed him again, more obviously. “Really?” She asked, sounding doubtful.

He took on an exaggeratedly offended look, holding his hand over his heart. “You don’t believe me a knight?” He asked in a wounded voice, though his eyes crinkled.

“Well,” She began slowly, still studying him. “I suppose I’m just surprised that you didn’t set off the inherent disdain I usually feel upon meeting most Southern Knights.”

The darker man tipped his head back with a bright laugh,  exclaiming in agreement "Ah! Cunts, the whole bloody lot of 'em"

This time it was she that received a dirty look from the Lannister son, though he was more discreet than when he’d been aiming it at _Sir Bronn of the Blackwater_.  The man in question reached over to slap a friendly hand against her shoulder blade. She saw the motion coming, so she prevented herself from reacting negatively to the distasteful gesture, paranoid mind always aware of the possibility of a weapon coming towards her unprotected back- even more so when she was amongst a crowd.  She’d never been one for casual touching, and her training had hardened her enough that she would rather avoid it altogether in most situations. It was unnecessary, and could slow awareness and reaction times if one became careless.

Beyond that, the impressive gathering of bruises she’d acquired under her clothes protested loudly when the digit connected now that she’d stopped moving and her adrenaline was receding. She’d apparently grown softer in the months since she’d departed, because she was no longer used to the bone deep ache of fresh welts as they melded into colorful bruises. Perhaps after the council she’d take advantage of the wonderful hot springs flowing beneath the keep. She wondered if Jaqen would judge her for the indulgence. Then she wondered if he’d be willing to join her. The steamy heat might almost feel like they were still across the Narrow Sea, when things were much less complicated and she herself was content with spending her own free time fighting and fucking in between assignments and training. 

After going so long without such a challenging fight, she felt the deep stirring in her core that she often got after such things, and a small, hidden part of herself was disappointed that she hadn’t gotten that release as well before having to rejoin the rest of the world. The night had passed far too quickly, and she was a little sad to see it end. Still, knowing that the man had been enjoying their play just as much as she made her fairly confident that he’d be just as eager to join their flesh as she once they were free to. If she could make that happen sooner than later? Well, who could blame her?

Arya was drawn out of her thoughts as the conversation beside her continued on, even as they entered the war room and took their seats in roughly the same position that they had entered it. She found her self seated between the two men, with Sansa across and one right of her, and Jon at the head of the table, apart from them both, though slightly closer to Sansa.

There were bowls of fruits and breads, and flagons of both water and wine, set around the room. Suddenly feeling famished, Arya reached out to snag an apple from nearby and slipped her small finger knife free of its hidden sheath. She settled into her seat seemingly comfortably, ignoring the points of discomfort lighting her body with practiced stoicism as she began carving bite sized pieces from her breakfast and popping them into her mouth from the edge of the razor sharp blade.

Jon and Daenerys stood together at the head of the table once everyone was settled. Jon began the meeting by thanking everyone for agreeing to meet so early. He may have just returned the night before, but he was eager for everyone to be caught up so that they could move on to planning their next step against the ever approaching army of the undead.

The recap of events was the easy part. It was once they were brainstorming their next move that things started to stall. It seemed there were a couple of ideas floating around, and people spent more time arguing over their pros and cons that nothing was actually being decided nor progress made. From her time as a cupbearer, she knew this type of thing was normal during a war council, but it was still frustrating to the girl to watch the council squabble when they should have been solidifying their plans. They’d been there nearing two hours already, and she was growing bored.

“Do you know _why_ Aegon Targaryen is still remembered, three hundred years after his death?” Arya spoke up suddenly, the mesh of voices trailing off as all turned to look at her still casually lounging form.

Purple eyes narrowed at her, studying her and trying to figure her out. They hadn’t spoken before this, and it was clear the Queen wasn’t sure quite what to make of her. “Because he had dragons.” She answered sharply after a pause, tone confident and chin raised slightly.

 “A lot of people have had dragons.” Arya denied easily, brow raised slightly. “Can you name every one of them?” Purple eyes narrowed further, and she heard her sister hiss out her name almost silently from the seat across from her. She ignored the warning. “No? So, not _just_ the dragons then.”

“What is the point of this, Arya?” Jon asked, breaking his own silence and shooting her a stern look.

Her brow twitched again, and she had to lock down on the mocking expression that wanted to spread across her face at the protectiveness he was unwittingly showing. He might have caught it anyway. He’d always been the best at reading her in their youth. Her eyes dropped back to the table in mock contrition as she clarified. “Aegon the Conqueror isn’t remembered because of what he had. He's remembered for what he did.”

“He did a great number of things. Of which are you referring?” Daenerys questioned coolly. Arya couldn’t help but meet her eyes once again, feeling her amusement grow at how easily Her Grace was to rile. She had a feeling the woman wasn’t often questioned, at least not openly, and certainly never so boldly.

Still, probably best to get on with it. Her eyes grew distant as she recalled a conversation with a man now long dead- a man who taught her many lessons of his own, during their brief time together. “When Aegon the Conqueror took the battle to the fortress of Harren the Black, it was a feat many considered foolish. Harrenhal was said to be impenetrable, after all. The entirety of the riverlands had been depleted of their resources, and thousands died to complete its construction. It was the biggest castle in Westeros, with the thickest, strongest, and tallest ramparts in all the land. A million men could have laid siege to it’s walls, and a million would have been repelled. The traditional plays wouldn’t work, not there, and so Aegon didn’t bother with them. He found another way. He changed the rules of the game. _That_ is why he’s remembered. Not because he was another faceless Targaryen boasting a pet dragon.”

She settled farther into her chair when she finished, secretly enjoying the broad range of expressions she was getting from around the table. She though her little speech might have further enraged the queen, but it didn’t seem to be the case as the silver haired woman instead studied here thoughtfully once more, head tilted just slightly to the side.

Her attention was caught next by the golden haired brothers exchanging a look of their own, the shorter of the two several seats away. She allowed her lips to twist in amusement. “Tywin taught me that.” She offered then, tone blasé. Both sets of eyes snapped to her immediately and she met them each in turn, studying them and allowing them both to study her in return.

“Tywin Lannister?” Sansa asked incredulously. Grey eyes moved to meet Tully blue.

“Do you know another?” Arya returned sardonically.  

“When would _Tywin Lannister_ have taught you anything?” She pressed further, sounding almost faint at the very idea. “You never met the man.”

“At Harrenhal.” She stated, as though it should have been obvious from the story she told.

“At Harrenhal? -Arya, I don’t understand, when were you at Harrenhal?”

Becoming slightly uncomfortable at the real distress that was beginning to crack through the redhead’s own carefully crafted mask, the younger of the two deflected. “We’re getting off topic. The point is, Aegon knew he couldn’t take the fortress by charging the gates, like the entire world expected him to do, so he made another way. You’ve already met this army head on, and we all know how well that went. It’s time find another way. We need to change the game.”

“You think it’s that easy?” One of the Northern lords asked condescendingly. “Go on then girl, pray share with us this brilliant new strategy.”

Arya didn’t spare him but the briefest of looks- only long enough to take in his features before she glanced back to the people whose voices held the power. “Well?” Jon nudged after a moment. “Do you have any ideas?”

She shrugged slightly, having spent quite a bit of time thinking about it in her boredom. “It seems fairly obvious, doesn’t it? You know what won’t work, eliminate those strategies and then figure out what’s left.”  

“Go on.” Jon pressed, sounding more intrigued and rightly suspecting she wouldn’t press this unless she had an idea of her own to back it up.

She shrugged again, a bit deeper. “Well, judging by past experience, if you attack with your dragons, you have to expect that they’ll be taken down eventually.” She stated bluntly, refusing to be bowed by the fire that lit those violet orbs at her disinterested tone of voice. “You might be able to take them out first, but it doesn’t seem likely. Send our armies to meet them head on, and we might as well just add our men to their numbers before we’d even make a dent in their forces. Combining both might grant better odds, but I still wouldn’t place a wager in our favor.”

“Then what do you suggest?” The queen asked, tone nearing frigid.   

“You said the White Walkers stay at the back and oversee the army marching before them, yes? So attack from behind, take out the White Walkers and their soldiers will follow.”

The silence stretched for several seconds as everyone thought over the obvious sounding statement that was anything but as simple as it sounded. It was the youngest member, the Lady of Bear Island, that spoke up next. “The coming army is expansive. How would you suggest we get out soldiers behind them? It would take months to go around, and by that time they’d be on top of the city.”

Arya looked then to Lord Umber, familiar to her from her childhood. She knew, much like beneath Winterfell, The Last Hearth also had extensive hot springs spreading under and around the keep. “Tell me, Lord Umber,” She began, gaining his undivided attention, a curious tilt to the large mans head. “When I was a girl, I heard that the hot springs beneath The Last Hearth are even more expansive than those of Winterfell. That they run for miles through a system of underground caves and caverns that a stranger would easily become lost in. Is that true?”

His brows raised at the question, but he answered immediately all the same. “It is, My Lady.”

“Thank you. So, if we’re pitching ideas, I would suggest taking a host North to The Last Hearth and have them take refuge underground until the army passes above, and then attack from behind. Should it fail, the majority of the army will still be South of them and we won’t really have lost much.” She finished like it was obvious.

Considering looks were exchanged around the room, and the silence stretched as everyone gave the idea real thought. It did sound like a promising idea, and one that would have fewer causalities with a greater chance of success than any of the others they’d been arguing over.

Mayhap it was time to change the rules after all…

 

~*~ _TBC_ ~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied, this story will actually have three parts. Coming next- Arya and Jaqen visit the hotsprings & we finally discover just what brought the Faceless Man back to Westeros during a face to face meeting with the King of the North and Dragon Queen. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think! Your comments and Kudos keep me motivated to write faster!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please note, the rating for this fic has changed to Explicit, and the tag 'graphic sex' has been added. Proceed at your own risk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, the rating for this fic has changed to Explicit, and the tag 'graphic sex' has been added. Proceed at your own risk.

It was still another two hours before they were released from the war room, and Arya immediately ducked away from being hailed. She made her way swiftly back to her room, and then further on to one of the lesser known hot springs well beyond the walls of the keep and hidden amongst a thick cropping of trees.

It was easier to convince Jaqen to accompany her than she’d been expecting. That was, she hardly had to mention it before he agreed to go along with her. Despite his face remaining as blank as it ever was, she though he might be as eager as she to feel real warmth. It took a bit of time to reach their destination, and both their cheeks were tinted red by the time they arrived.

They began stripping unashamedly upon arrival, and were soon lowering themselves into the steamy pool of water that was surrounded by trees coated in fresh snowfall. There was snow on the ground too, but it had melted closest to the pool, and lay in a much thinner layer beneath the cover of the branches than beyond it.

The first several minutes were spent seeing to their own cleanliness. Where as they’d normally remove themselves from the water as soon as they finished, they found themselves lingering beyond necessity. As Arya thawed, the wound on her arm began flowing once more. When Jaqen noticed it (which was almost immediately), he turned away from her and reached for his clothes that were left folded neatly on a mostly dry patch beside the pool.  

“Come.” He stated as he reached into one of his many hidden pockets and drew out a thin sewing needle and silken thread. Items in hand, he turned back to face the slight form that had slipped through the water almost without disturbing the water.

She turned herself and stood easily as he pierced her flesh and tugged the slightly gaping wound back together. She ignored the sting of it, instead tipping her head up to watch the snowfall beyond their small cover. It was a beautiful sight, she’d freely admit, and she was remembering more and more reasons she’d so loved this place in her youth.

His hands were so light upon her skin that she hardly felt them past the prickle of the needlepoint, but they were skilled even in this, and he was soon finished. A single calloused finger dragged slowly down the flesh of her arm, bringing goosepimples to the surface and causing her head to turn and meet him once again.

No words were said, no words needed said. She stepped fully into his space, only a hairsbreadth from him, and his other hand moved to rest upon her hip beneath the steamy water. She reached up herself to brush back a strand of wet hair that had fallen forward. His eyes watched the movement of her hand, focused on her in a way that never failed to send a thrill humming through her.

He moved suddenly, faster than most people would be able to track, scooping her up like she were weightless and then carrying her over to the shallower side to set her bottom on the edge of the pool. The water settled around his own toned stomach, drawing them to almost equal height. Her skin pebbled at suddenly being exposed to the winter air, and she wrapped her arms and legs around him in response, drawing him firmly between her spread thighs so that she shared his lingering warmth.

His left hand came between the press of their chests to tweak at cold-tightened bud of her nipple, causing a mixture of pained pleasure to spark to life. She shifted despite herself, and a smirk formed upon his handsome face. His lips pressed against the corner of her of her mouth and then drug further down, nipping beneath her jaw and down her throat as he continued to toy with her.

His other hand settled on the juncture between her hip and thigh, thumb rubbing the slightest bit where it rested even closer to her hidden entrance. Her own hands ran up his strong arms to tangle in his hair, tugging lightly as she knew he enjoyed, and she felt his answering shiver move through him.

He changed suddenly, right hand moving up to attack her so far neglected nipple, while his left drug downward to tease at the core of her. Her legs spread further open without thought, allowing him easier access to all of her. She was rewarded for such trust immediately, as his thumb swirled in a practiced motion around the most pleasurable point of her.

He toyed with her until she peaked from the dual stimulation alone, not ever dipping to into her or granting her relief from the want that was throbbing inside of her for something more. She may have tried to take it for herself, but his manhood was still hidden beneath the surface and so out of her reach.

When her orgasm ebbed away, he lifted her once again and bodily rearranged her a few feet over, where the pool was shallower still, and formed more of a slope than an edge. She found herself settled on her hands and knees, while he molded his larger frame to press against the back of her. He was the only person in the entirety of the world that she’d trust to place her in such vulnerable position, and she did so without hesitation.  

Large hands firmly gripped her slender waist, and a hard cock teased at her core, rubbing up and down slowly with slight movements of his hips. He speared her suddenly and without warning, causing her to jolt forward with the force, and allowing an involuntary moan to break free.

He uncurled, pulling back slightly to better control his thrusts, and Arya allowed her self to fall down onto her elbows, despite the thin layer of snow she now reached. Her  back bowed, and her nipples dragged suddenly across the jagged crystals of ice. She tensed initially, and felt Jaqen’s hands squeeze her tighter in response. He thrust again, more deliberately, and they dragged across the snow once more.

She couldn’t quite decide if she liked it or not, as the sensitive nubs tightened further against the onslaught. Despite the twisted mess of painful pleasure, her blood rose higher still, and she clenched down once more, this time on purpose, as she felt her pleasure begin to build once more.

His right hand released its tight hold on her, and ran upwards to stroke across her smooth back. He pressed her down further, causing the snow to scratch across her breasts in addition to the nipple. She couldn’t hold back the quiet moan completely, but she did muffle it as best she could. He shifted his angle again, the adjusted slant of her back allowing him to thrust deeper still.

His left hand moved around to press between her legs and start stroking along with the motion of his hips. The faster he moved, the faster her pleasure built until she couldn’t hold it back anymore and fell over the edge, muscles clenching and releasing as his hand continued to tease her, drawing it out further and further, until she reached down and pulled him away. He thrust a few more times and then finished himself, hips stuttering slightly as he worked through it.

Once they’d detached, they slipped back into the warmth of the water, which felt even hotter after having been bare to the air above for so long. It was only a couple of minutes after that they heard the distant howls on the air. The first one that had gone up had sent a tingle down her spine, and she knew immediately who it came from.

She stood straighter in the water, tilting her head to the side as the howls continued to sound from what sounded like a wolf pack a hundred strong, at least. Jaqen was watching her, his own head tilted similarly as he waited to see how she reacted. The song trailed off slowly, and the silence resounded around them.

The started up again just a minute or so later, sounding much closer than they had before. They must have been moving quickly, to cover so much ground. Arya began moving up the sloped side she’d been lain against just before, and moved around the pool to grab the cloth they’d brought to dry off with when they’d finished. She motioned Jaqen to remain where he was, thinking the wolves might be less likely to attack if it meant entering the water on such a frigid day.

She hadn’t yet dressed when she heard the sounds of paws surrounding them, still hidden by the trees. She rose fully back to her feet, taking up the Valyrian steel dagger out of habit, even if she didn’t think she’d truly need it.

The creature that emerged first she seen but once since her childhood, and wasn’t a wolf at all, but a Direwolf whose head nearly reached her shoulders now that they stood on even ground. She was still just as wild looking as she’d been when Arya had first arrived back in Winterfell, but didn’t look quite as angry with the girl.

More normal sized wolves followed her lead, emerging from the trees all around them, though never getting closer than their leader was. “Nymeria,” She breathed lightly, stepping closer. Nymeria hesitated when the girl moved towards her, but only for a moment. Her great head dipped lower, and she sniffed the air before huffing at her, pawing at the ground. “Nymeria.” She said again, just a bit more firmly, crouching down to put herself level with the rich brown eyes.

Suddenly the next largest wolf, her mate, approached, followed by four larger than normal pups, still covered in the soft fuzz Nymeria had been when they’d found her and the others. “You have a family now.” She whispered, reaching a hand out towards her old friend. That great head bowed slightly once more, allowing Arya to stroke her nose softly, and then the side of her head and neck.

Her mate stayed back, but the four pups wandered closer, nuzzling their mother as they passed by and then walking fearlessly up to Arya, tails waggling in curiosity. The largest of them crouched down and growled at her, the action more cute than intimidating thanks to his small size. “They’re gorgeous.” She complemented, drawing a low rumble from the broad chest in front of her. She reached her hand out to the pups, so sniffed her eagerly and allowed her to stroke across their backs- even the largest, who’d quit his own growling as he saw his siblings remain unharmed.

Jaqen approached slowly from behind her, curiosity alight in his own eyes. Nymeria locked eyes on the stranger, huffing at the air once more and sniffing him. She didn’t bow her head as she had for Arya, but she did allow the larger hand to reach out and stoke behind her ear.

The large beast pulled her head back a moment later, lifting her head to look up at the sky above. She let out a deep, resounding, howl, which was picked up immediately by the rink of wolves still surrounding the two. When they tapered off, and Nymeria had lowered her head once more, Arya smiled. “Thank you for bringing them to meet me.” She said softly. Nymeria stepped forward and butted her head gently against the girls still bare abdomen, and then turned to go.

Her packed moved with here, keeping pace as they lopped away and disappeared back into the depths of the forest beyond. Only when they last wolf trailed out of sight did Arya realize how cold she felt once more. Still, she was dry, and so she didn’t want to get back in the water. Instead, she turned to dress in the new set of clothes she’d also brought, Jaqen following her lead.

“Come.” The man stated once they were dressed. “It is time for a man to seek council with the queen.”

“The queen?” Arya questioned, tone showing her small surprise. So he had wanted to be seen, after all. Why hide then? Why not just remain with her and speak with the queen then? “What business have you with the queen?”

Jaqen glanced over at her, one brow raised slightly higher than the other. “A lovely girl need not worry,” He stated, a hint of teasing hidden in his voice. “I come with good tidings. Tidings from the Iron Bank.”

Her own brow raised in question, but she did not press further, knowing she’d get her answers soon enough.

~*~

When Arya walked confidently into the meeting chambers where the Small Council had once again convened in after lunch was concluded, it wasn’t really a surprise. What did come as a surprise was the man who strode in beside her.

Jon stood immediately, hands pressed against the table top. “Arya. Who’s your guest?” He questioned, voice firm. It was only that she was his beloved sister that he didn’t show more anger at bringing an unknown stranger amongst their strategy session unannounced.

“My guest speaks for himself.” She replied blithely, stepping to the side and leaning casually against the wall.  

To her mild surprise, Jaqen strode across the room and came to a stop directly facing the queen, dropping smoothly to one knee and bowing his head. He pressed a closed fist to his heart and bowed his head. “Valar Morghulis.”

A silver brow raised at the greeting that had been familiar back in Essos, but not one she’d heard since arriving in Westeros. “Valar Dohaeris.” She replied automatically. “And who might you be?” She drawled next, shifting to stand so that she could face him fully.

He rose back to his feet just as gracefully, crossing his arms behind his back and standing proudly at his full height. “A man comes bearing tidings for the Break of Chains from the Great City of Braavos.” He intoned, nodding slightly.

Having grown up in Braavos herself, Dany was familiar with the Faceless Men, followers of the Many Faced God. She didn’t know very much about them, they being a very secretive guild who lived in the House of Black and White, situated on its own isolated island in the lagoons surrounding the city proper. It was accessible only by boat, but its members could often be seen wandering the city.

“You still haven’t identified yourself.” Jon spoke sternly, crossing his arms as he glared across at the newcomer.

Jaqen ignored the demand, keeping his eyes firmly on the queen as he continued, ignoring the King completely. “The City of Braavos appreciates what the Break of Chains has accomplished in Slavers Bay. A man has come to offer support in this upcoming war. Whatever Your Grace requires, you shall receive.”

Frowns of suspicion grew around the table, and the two watched as looks were exchanged and silent conversations held. “I did not think the Iron Bank willing to support my claim in this war?” Dany pressed. “I was under the impression they were backing Cerci Lannister.” She finished coolly.

“The Queen in the South has paid grave insult to the Iron Bank. They are no longer willing to back her campaign.”

“What insult would that be? I’d hate to make the same one, after all.”

“The Queen insinuated that the Iron Bank profited from the Slave Trade, and that their profits were hurt during the liberation of Slavers Bay.” He explained in the same bland tone, seeming unconcerned with the reactions he was receiving.

“I see.” The Mother of Dragons replied.

“Forgive my ignorance, but I don’t. Why would such a statement be insulting enough to change their allegiance, and likely the tide of this war?” Jon questioned.

Jaqen finally looked over at him. “Tell me, King in the North, what do you know of the history of Braavos?”

Jon, as the bastard son, hadn’t received as extensive education in histories as Rob had, and so he only had vague knowledge of the city itself.. “I know that it’s the richest of all the free cities, and that it remained hidden from the world for three centuries before coming into the light.” He offered scantly.

The Faceless Man looked over at Arya, expression prompting her without needing to use words. She straightened from her careless pose, granting the story the more respectful stance it deserved. The history was one of the first lessons she learned, and it had made her feel even more attached to the unique city when she’d learned it than she’d been upon arriving and seeing the wide variety of people.

“Eight hundred years ago, a fleet of Valyrian trade ships were overthrown by the slaves being transported upon them. The freed slaves sailed the ships nearly a thousand leagues away, to the Land of a Hundred Isles. They settled upon one of the largest, it’s boarders surrounded by sheer mountain peaks, and near constantly shrouded in fog, allowing them safety from the dragon scouts that may fly above.”

“The people of Braavos dyed the sails of the stolen ships purple, and then used them to trade the resources that were found richly upon the isle. The wealth of the city began growing before the rest of the world even knew it existed. Even once it was discovered, it’s location remained a secret for another two hundred years.”

“A group of twenty three men and women accumulated their wealth and hid it away in a subterranean iron mine. They created the Iron Bank and, when the city was revealed to the world, the Iron Bank saved Braavos from new war with Valyria by paying the Grandchildren of the original slave holders  for the stolen ships. They did not offer payment for the slaves themselves.”

“Braavos was founded on the idea of Liberty for all. It’s first law forbids slavery, it’s engraved on the very arch that spans the Long Canal. For Cerci to imply the Iron Bank makes money on Slavery insults their very foundation and shows an ignorance for their values.”

Finished, she settled back against the wall, crossing her arms and propping a booted foot up against the stone. Jaqen nodded once more. “Just so.” He stated simply. “You have shown yourself true to the values Braavos is built upon, and so Braavos will support you in this war.”

“That still doesn’t explain why a Faceless Man would speak for the Iron Bank.”

Jaqen tilted his head, acknowledging her point. “Though not as well known, the Faceless Men were born during the same time, in the slave mines of Ancient Valyria. The conditions of those mines were so terrible, the slaves themselves began praying for mercy. So many men prayed, in so many languages and for so many gods, that He of Many Faces was created. He came first for the weakest of the slaves, granting them the merciful end they were seeking. Then, he came for the masters.”

“Though it was the Moonsingers that led the freed slave ships to the Land of a Hundred Isles, those loyal to He of Many Faces were aboard and came to settled on the sheltered shores with the rest of the refuges. Like the rest of the Braavosi, the Faceless Men believe in freedom for all. It is for this reason that a man offer’s his services to you as freely as the Iron Bank offers aid. Speak you will, and a man will see it accomplished.” His head bowed a final time, right hand coming once more to clasp above his heart. “Your Grace.” He finished respectfully.  

Looks were exchanged again, more hopeful in nature. Arya glanced around the table briefly to get a general idea of the mindset, and then settled her eyes back on her mentor, feeling a bit lighter herself. Mayhap they’d survive the coming struggle after all.

_~*~ END ~*~_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is it. Thank you all so much for reading, commenting and leaving Kudos! I really appreciate all of the feedback, and I look forward to hearing what you thought of this last chapter.


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